


What You Were, Who You Could Be

by tenandi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale loves Crowley, Crowley Whump, Crowley is a sex addict, Drug Abuse, Fic Dump, Healing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love at First Sight, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, The path to wellness, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenandi/pseuds/tenandi
Summary: Crowley struggled against the dark urges that rose up in him every time he started to feel low. He craved acceptance and love, two things he'd been denied in his past relationship...if one could even call it that. And then one day he saw an angel and began to wonder. Could he ever be whole again?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 146





	What You Were, Who You Could Be

“Interesting,” Dr. Device said. “And how do you define love?”

Crowley’s face went blank. “Wut?”

“You said that love is stupid,” she explained. “And I’m trying to understand your comment better. So what do you think love is, besides stupid?”

The redhead sank in his chair and then immediately corrected it. His therapist had told him this was a sign of avoidance and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

“Ngk,” Crowley replied. “I mean obviously it’s when you give away your power.”

“I see,” Dr. Device replied. She scribbled something down on her pad of paper and Crowley clenched his teeth. “So love doesn’t also give you a sense of power? Perhaps if it’s returned?”

“Wouldn’t know,” the redhead said in a clipped tone. He was getting anxious and annoyed. He always felt like that when she cornered him.

“Take a deep breath for me Anthony,” she instructed, and he did. It released a little of the tension.

“Good. Now we were talking about relationships earlier. Friendship and love, of course. But also meeting people in a more authentic way - getting to know them for who they are. Have you talked to the man in the coffee shop yet?”

Crowley sneered. “You mean the chubby one?” His words came out so quickly that he regretted it. The blonde wasn’t unattractive by any means. He was perfect. Dr. Device didn’t interrupt or talk over him. She just waited for his genuine reply, which always followed his defensive snaps.

His shoulders sagged. “Not yet,” he said softly. “But I want to. He never looks at me.”

Dr. Device nodded. “Didn’t you say he’s usually preoccupied? Reading a book, most often, if I remember correctly. Some people can get very absorbed when they’re focusing on something. Do you think he’s aware of your interest?”

Crowley thought it over and shook his head, which made the therapist smile. “It sounds like you’re going to have to leave your comfort zone if you want to meet him properly. But from what you’ve told me about his interactions with others, I think he’d welcome your direct attention.”

“He’s really nice,” Crowley mumbled, dropping his chin into the palm of his hand. “He’s always smiling and has something pleasant to say to everyone.”

“And you’d like for him to say something pleasant to you?” Dr. Device led on.

Crowley blushed. “Mm. Yeah.”

“Well I think you have your work cut out for you, Anthony. I’m hoping that the next time we talk you’ve had a nice discussion with this man. All it takes is a little bit of courage and believing in yourself.”

Crowley laughed hollowly. She might as well have asked him to sprout wings and fly to Alpha Centauri. But then again...he’d been working with her for several months now, and had already seen some progress. Maybe he could do it, after all.

“And Crowley,” Dr. Device cautioned, “Remember what we discussed about impulses. It’s natural to feel the same urges you’ve had before, but you decided to see me for a reason. If you really want to change your habits, it’s up to you.”

Crowley’s fingers dug into his tight black pants, bunching up the fabric. He released his hold and breathed like she’d taught him. “Yes,” he said. “It’s up to me.”

That’s what he kept repeating in his head like a mantra the next day as he took up his usual spot at the coffee house. The blonde was already there and buried in a book. He held his fingers aloft and they jumped frequently, as if pantomiming when something interesting developed in the plot. Crowley stared behind his dark sunglasses, wondering when the right moment would present itself.

“Here’s your tea, Mr. Fell,” the barista said as she set down a mug on the table. Crowley jerked and found himself standing. Apparently the moment was happening with or without his consent.

The blonde looked up at the barista to thank her, one hand settling on the handle of his mug as he lifted it to his mouth. He took a tiny sip and hummed with pleasure.

That gesture made the lower half of Crowley’s body melt into the floor, yet his legs kept moving. He was all but upon him when he came to a halt.

“Hey,” the redhead said out of nowhere. He felt his cheeks flushed and cursed them.

“Oh, hello,” the blonde said curiously. He looked up at Crowley with those bright blue eyes and waited. Crowley could practically feel the second hand on the clock ticking.

“I um…” Crowley stumbled. “I’ve seen you around here.”

The blonde smiled and nodded. “Yes! It’s one of my favorite haunts. And yourself?”

Crowley realized the man had probably never noticed him. It was as he’d always feared. “Every once in a while,” he reported. “They have good…” Oh shit. Oh fuck. Think of a food. What’s a food? Any food will do! “Brioche,” he finished.

“Indeed they do!” the blonde said, straightening up. “But it’s nothing compared to their crepes! I’ve never tasted anything as delectable as their strawberry chocolate concoction, except of course, when I was in Paris. There, pastries are a way of life, I must say! And on that note, the Parisians have a robust sense of...oh! Pardon me. I’m being abominably rude. Won’t you sit down?”

Crowley collapsed into the nearby chair as the blonde went on at length about his culinary adventures. Crowley found all the right places to nod, but his mind was already fifty miles ahead of him as usual.

Those plump lips. How would they look with his own thin fingers pushing them apart to hand feed him some delicate sweet? Crowley blinked the vision away, focusing harder on what the blonde was saying. Something about old records.

He imagined a record spinning on an old Victrola. A hushed groan interrupting the track. No. Stop it.

Now the blonde was trying to explain how he began collecting books, and Crowley could see the man’s fist clenching the pages of some antique treasure, because Crowley was behind him and taking everything he-

“What do you think?” the blonde said suddenly.

The redhead tripped over snatches of the conversation and shook his head. “I think I...I think I should just…” He stood up and pointed toward the loo meaningfully. The blonde was surprised but waved him on all the same. Crowley couldn’t have been more thankful when he escaped inside, the stall door closing soundly behind him. Not one second longer and he would have exploded.

His wrist gyrated as he stared at the graffiti-littered wall. He could be better than this, if he tried. He could focus...he could get his shit together. A flash of the blonde kneeling over him, wrenching his knees apart, and he came undone. He heaved a few breaths before cleaning himself up.

Leaving the bathroom, he shot an apologetic glance toward the blonde. He was sitting at attention and smiled warmly.

“Sorry,” Crowley announced. “Not feeling so well. I’d better get home and have a lie down.”

“Completely understandable!” the blonde replied. “And oh! How terribly rude of me not to introduce myself! I’m Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said in a dazed voice. He barely had the presence of mind to say his own name back.

“Well Anthony, it was lovely to meet you,” the blonde said. “I do hope to see you again soon.”

Crowley nodded and headed into the blustery night air, wrapping his thin scarf around his neck. ‘Aziraphale,’ he thought again and again.

-

Crowley woke up sandwiched between not just one, but two naked bodies. He tried to sit up but the alcohol in his system protested. And fuck, did he have a splitting headache. Steeling himself, he waded out of the bed covers and looked around the unfamiliar flat. He found his pants by the doorframe, and further out from there was able to recover his t-shirt. He never found his socks, but stuck his feet into his shoes and frowned. For all the progress he’d made he was back to square one.

Of course he wouldn’t have spent the night with the blonde, Aziraphale. And not because he was basically a stranger. All of his hits were strangers. Someone in the back of a bar. Another found online. Dating apps were especially helpful when he needed a quick fix. But Aziraphale was something else to Crowley. He was a guiding light. An angelic figure who deserved better than Crowley had ever given. And he wanted to give so much. In a real way. Not just the quick fuck and retreat that had come to characterize his life over the last few years.

Crowley walked out into the light and cursed his forgotten sunglasses. He’d left so many pairs behind with one night stands that he’d started to carry spares in his glove box. He reached his car and retrieved a pair for the ride back. He preferred the distanciation they offered from the everyday world. They were like a suit of armor for his eyes. No one could really see him or read him behind the lenses. And for longer than what he’d like to admit, he needed that.

-

“How many times a day?” Dr. Device asked during Crowley’s first session.

The redhead’s upper lip twitched. “You mean by myself or with other people?”

“Both. On average,” the therapist clarified.

Crowley made a drawn-out sound between a whine and a groan. “Maybe...like five?” In his mind he added ‘depending on the day.’

“And when would you say you noticed this was becoming habitual, or increasing from the norm?” she asked.

The redhead knew the time and date to the letter, but he wasn’t ready to confess it yet. “It was some months ago,” he said softly.

“Anthony,” the therapist couched as she folded her hands on her knees. “Was there a precipitating event or major life change that prompted your new behavior?”

Crowley’s fingernails dug into the sides of his chair. His chest clenched and he felt the sudden urge to run. How far would he get, he wondered? Or would he never stop? He didn’t even realize he was shaking until Dr. Device laid a steadying hand on his arm. He looked down at it and blinked.

Not for the first time since he’d entered the room, he wanted to grab the doctor and pin her up against the wall. His addiction was not restricted to any particular gender or even physical type, as long as he could expend the pent-up energy in his body that threatened to drive him mad. He shook the doctor’s hand away and stared at the floor.

“I understand this is difficult,” Dr. Device’s voice broke in. “And we don’t have to move a mountain in one day, Anthony. I want you to feel comfortable in this space.”

Crowley looked at her and nodded in relief. The thought of opening up so quickly was daunting. He’d already dragged his feet for over a year just thinking about seeking help. If he could have more time as she suggested, he knew it would go better for him. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, deciding to start from the beginning instead. That part was easier to talk about.

-

Crowley moved to New York after high school, intent on becoming a famous artist. He thought if he just ran around with the right people then a successful career would materialize. He laughed off his naysayers who tried to warn him it would be much more difficult, and found himself in the Big Apple without a dime to his name.

Crowley was young, stubborn, and industrious. He worked up to three different jobs just to make ends meet, and never gave up on his dream. It took about two years, but he finally met someone who could make everything happen for him, or so he thought at the time.

The redhead had been wandering through a gallery when a warm voice ghosted over his shoulder.

“Do you like it?” a man asked.

Crowley’s eyes scanned over the canvas. It was dripping in blood red streaks of paint over a dark, smokey background. Not really his taste, but impressive all the same.

“Why do you ask?” Crowley inquired.

“Because I’m thinking about buying it,” the voice replied easily. “You look like someone with good taste.”

Crowley didn’t miss the price tag next to the work and his eyes went wide before turning around. Standing in front of him was one of the handsomest men he’d ever seen, and he was dressed to kill. His elegant black suit matched his dark curly hair, and his piercing green eyes were the only spot of color on him. Crowley was instantly smitten.

“I’m Wick,” the man said with a devilish smile. He held out his hand and Crowley’s eyes landed on his complex watch, numbers ticking by on assembly lines in zig-zag patterns. The redhead shook his hand and allowed the man to pull him closer.

“You know,” Wick said, “Now that I think about it there’s nothing in this gallery that remotely compares to your beauty. Maybe I’ll take you home instead.”

Crowley blushed and nodded. And that’s how it all began.

-

Crowley had little experience when it came to the bedroom. The most he’d ever done was get off with his (sort of) high school boyfriend using their hands. His first night with Wick taught him more than his entire repertoire up to that point, sending his brain skidding off the tracks with the sheer carnality of it all.

Wick had unwrapped him like a present, exploring every nook and cranny of his body before drawing the younger man into his mouth. Crowley thought that was the best thing he’d ever experienced until he felt the raven-haired man’s tongue slide further back, tickling against the soft ring of muscle he’d never considered as an erogenous zone. The delights didn’t stop there but Wick introduced him to kinkier and more penetrative acts. Using his fingers, toys, and restraints, he walked Crowley through every level of lust known to man.

After a few months, Crowley practically radiated love. He’d never felt so cared for, and Wick provided more than sexual favors. He paid for everything: dinners at five star restaurants, broadway shows, mini-vacations, a brand new wardrobe. Soon Crowley was nowhere but on his man’s arm, and even living with him permanently once Wick suggested it. Their life together was succulent, rich, and extravagant. Crowley felt like they walked amongst the clouds together rather than the dirty streets of New York. It was perfection.

Being so young and naive, Crowley was shocked to learn that Wick kept other lovers. Although none of them lived in the high rise, he found out that Wick would often take them on lavish trips or spend time with them on the side. The first time he realized this was when he caught Wick making out with a young blonde at one of his nightclubs. Crowley had come unexpectedly to surprise his boyfriend, and was treated to the sight of him cheating instead.

Crowley threw a massive fit in the middle of the dance floor, but Wick merely rolled his eyes.

“It’s meaningless, darling,” he said with a sly grin. “It’s just sex. You need to loosen up.” Something about the tone in his voice was final, and Crowley knew it. It was just how things were going to be between them.

Crowley had a choice in it all, he realized. He could have walked away then, but he didn’t. So many times that initial decision haunted him later on in his life. He could have escaped so easily, before things got worse. But he didn’t.

Wick continued to have other lovers and Crowley managed the feelings of pain and betrayal by stuffing them down. He quickly learned that compartmentalization was easier than facing the truth. When they had been together for about six months, Wick decided it was time to take things to the next level.

One evening Crowley came home to Wick with another man in their home. The two were talking easily over a bottle of wine and Wick beckoned his boyfriend to sit with him on the couch.

“This is my old friend and business partner,” he said by way of introduction. Crowley smiled and took a drink offered by his boyfriend. He loved the idea of playing host as part of a couple. But as the night went on Crowley began to lose some of his lucidity. He started to laugh a little too loud and found himself slumping on Wick’s shoulder more often than not. The raven-haired man drew Crowley closer and began to kiss his neck, making the redhead giggle.

“Not in front of your friend,” he whispered, but that only drew a chuckle from his boyfriend.

“Why not?” he asked, one hand drawing down Crowley’s button-up and heading toward his trousers. He increased his attack on Crowley’s neck and the redhead found his head rolling back, spots appearing in his vision as he stared up at the ceiling fan. He heard his fly zipping down and Wick took him out, admiring his hard length.

“Isn’t he exquisite?” Wick’s voice said. An affirming grunt came from the other man in the room.

Crowley felt his legs spread apart and two warm hands landing on his thighs. Wick continued to lick at his neck and ear. Crowley felt a hot mouth settle on his cock and had the presence of mind to look down, shocked to find the ‘business partner’ sucking him off while Wick watched.

Crowley wanted to shout. He wanted to hit Wick and throw the other man off of him. He wanted to cry, to run away, to do anything but sit there and take it. But he didn’t do any of those things. His eyes rolled back into his head and he made a muffled sound in his throat while Wick unbuttoned his shirt and started to play with his nipples. A tear rolled down the side of his cheek and Wick kissed it away.

“None of that,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “You’re being so good for our guest.”

At long last Crowley felt himself released, unaware that he had come. He sank into the couch as the room tilted before his eyes. Wick was standing up and walking their ‘guest’ to the door. The last thing Crowley saw was a giant wad of cash on the table. When he woke in the morning it was gone.

-

“Crowley!”

The redhead turned around, the coffee in his cup sloshing over. He cursed and grabbed a wad of napkins to blot the counter dry.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the barista as the blonde approached him.

“I was hoping to run into you!” Aziraphale said with a smile that melted the ice around Crowley’s heart.

“Me too,” the redhead blurted out. “I mean...how have you been?”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I finally got my affairs in order. Remember I told you about opening a bookshop?”

Crowley felt his heart skip a few beats. He must have missed out on that information when he was too busy fantasizing about the blonde to listen. He nodded anyways.

“Well, I’ve got it all sorted now. Picked out a site just a few blocks away! I’m terribly excited about it!” Aziraphale babbled on.

Crowley was thankful for his sunglasses and the fact that he’d seen to himself right before visiting the coffee shop. The blonde’s penchant for blathering was a strange turn on. Although, everything he did seemed to check Crowley’s boxes.

“If um...you’re not too busy,” Aziraphale continued, “Perhaps you’d like to see it in person? It’s just an empty space right now but-”

“I’d love to,” Crowley interrupted. He grabbed a to-go cup and sloshed his coffee into it. “Ready when you are.”

The pair strolled the short distance to the shop, and Aziraphale stopped just short of the facade with barely contained excitement on his face.

“There!” he pointed. Crowley followed his gaze to admire the corner lot hosting a large two story building. A pair of columns flanked the entryway up a short flight of stairs. It looked a little hard loved, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a fresh coat of paint and some windex.

Aziraphale led them on, crossing the street without a second glance at oncoming traffic. Crowley waved to an approaching car and ensured the absentminded blonde lived another day.

“It was built in the early 1800s,” Aziraphale explained as he fished out a set of keys. “All original interior, including the floors. It’s such a dream!” He pushed the door open and gave a small clap of delight. “After you.”

Crowley walked inside and immediately sneezed from the dust motes they’d stirred up. The entire shop was blanketed in it, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice.

“This is where the stacks will go,” he narrated. “And over here a small seating area for the customers. I believe I’ll put the rare books near the front desk so I can do repairs while people browse. And then upstairs is the living area.” He guided Crowley to the staircase and they climbed up to a landing that overlooked the shop. Through another door was the flat where Aziraphale would live.

The flat consisted of a small den with a built-in kitchen, a dining room, and one very small bedroom with an attached bathroom. Windows circled around brought in a bevvy of natural light, unlike the darkened shop below. Crowley couldn’t help but smile. It was perfect for the angel.

“Oh,” he said aloud, startling himself with the appellation.

“It is cozy, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, edging closer.

Crowley looked down and directly into the blonde’s eyes. It was almost too much. He nearly bent in to kiss the man but somehow restrained himself. “Lovely,” he said instead. “When are you moving in?”

“Next weekend,” Aziraphale said. “I’m hoping to get it all done in one day, but there are quite a lot of books.”

“Need a hand, then?” Crowley asked, and felt something inside of himself light up at the thought.

“If you’re not too busy,” Aziraphale fretted. “I’d hate to put you out.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley replied easily. “I’m happy to. Anything you need.”

The blonde blushed and it filled Crowley with pleasure. He would count down the days til he could see him again.

-

“I’m really proud of you, Anthony,” Dr. Device said upon their next meeting. “You’ve taken the initiative and put yourself out there. It couldn’t have been easy.”

Crowley shook his head. “It wasn’t. I was terrified. And the um, the urges… Kind of got in the way the first time. But it was easier the second time I saw him.”

“It sounds like the beginning of a very nice friendship,” she affirmed, but that made the redhead grumble.

“You don’t like the sound of that?” his therapist asked. “You want something more?”

Crowley nodded. “I want… I want anything. Everything. Whatever he’ll give me. I think about him constantly.”

“That’s something you can discuss with him,” Dr. Device advised. “You’re both adults who can have open conversations about expectations.”

Crowley shrank back in his chair. He didn’t like any kind of confrontation. And expressing himself was nearly unthinkable.

“Are you worried he won’t honor your boundaries?” she asked.

“Ngk. No. I know he’s not Wick,” Crowley said quickly.

“He isn’t,” Dr. Device agreed. “But I understand that opening up can be overwhelming for you. You’ll have to learn how to trust someone all over again. And that begins with conversations including how you feel and what you want.”

“It’s too hard,” Crowley deflected. “I don’t even know where to begin. And I...I already fucked up again.”

His therapist leaned forward, eyes serious. “You mean you had a recent sexual encounter?”

Crowley nodded. “Right after I talked to Aziraphale the first time. I lost control. I just…” His eyes filled up with tears and they spilled over his cheeks. “I fucking hate myself.”

“Deep breaths,” Dr. Device said soothingly. “Remember what we said about negative self-talk.”

Crowley sobbed.

-

He woke up half-dressed on the couch to find Wick standing over him.

“Someone had a bit too much last night,” the raven-haired man said. One palm traced up Crowley’s back, causing him to recoil.

“What did you do to me?” he hissed, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t remember everything. It’s all in bits and pieces!”

Wick laughed him off. “That’s what happens when you’re having fun, love. Let me get you cleaned up.” He half-dragged the redhead to the bathtub which was already filled with bubbles. He helped his boyfriend into the hot water and began to bathe him.

Crowley stared at the wall, uncertain what was real or imagined. Did last night even happen?

“Have I ever told you how perfect you are?” Wick asked as he squeezed a sponge over Crowley’s hair. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Like a dream.”

Crowley looked him in the eyes and shook his head. He was trembling despite the heat of the bath.

“Shh, now,” Wick soothed him. “Everything’s fine darling. I’m here. And I’m going to take care of you. You know that right? You know how much I love you.”

Crowley froze in place. “What did you say?”

Wick chuckled and pinched Crowley’s chin between his fingers. “I said I love you,” he repeated. “I love you, Anthony.”

Crowley’s lower lip pouted in disbelief. No one had ever said that to him before. “You do?” he asked.

“Of course darling,” Wick confirmed. “From now until forever.”

-

After a few months of normality, Wick shifted again. Crowley had been enjoying all of the renewed attention, finally convincing himself that he’d exaggerated everything during his strange episode. Wick told him that he loved him, after all. He was safe with him.

One evening they went to Wick’s nightclub, a booming business amongst several other capital ventures he managed. They enjoyed dancing the night away and eventually ended up in a private booth with three other couples. One of the women in the group took out a small compact and began to arrange lines of powder on its surface. Crowley looked on with interest but wasn’t particularly into drugs himself. As each person took a hit Wick began to look at him expectantly.

“Crowley,” he said before sliding the compact in front of his partner. “You’re gonna love this.”

“Mph, no thanks,” the redhead countered, but Wick was already arranging the coke and handing him a small straw.

“Go on babe,” Wick laughed. “We’re all friends here. Don’t you want to have some fun?” His tone was a little sharp, indicating that the evening’s activity was not optional.

Crowley frowned a little but figured there wasn’t any real harm in it. Everyone was doing it after all. He leaned down and snorted the line to the applause of the group.

“Good boy,” Wick whispered into his ear. Crowley shivered unpleasantly and anchored his eyes to the table.

Soon Wick urged everyone to the dancefloor and Crowley began to feel the drug kicking in. He was so amped up, emboldened by the effects and feeling higher than a kite. But most importantly he felt like he could do anything.

He didn’t balk when Wick invited the other couples back to their place, or when the energy changed and everyone suddenly seemed so much closer. He squinted his eyes as he watched the couples pair off, but not with their original companions. At least, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Wick took him back to their bedroom and laid Crowley facedown on the mattress, promising him that they were going to have their own fun that night. He restrained Crowley’s hands and feet, quartering him to each post around the bed. After finishing, he leaned down at the foot of the bed and kissed Crowley’s open mouth.

“I love you baby,” he said as the bedroom door opened and two of the men from the party stepped inside.

“What uh…” Crowley tried to articulate but found his mouth was too dry. The room was spinning a little and he felt confused. Wick held up a mirror, helping Crowley take another bump of coke.

“Don’t worry love,” Wick smiled. “I’m going to make sure everything’s okay.” He retreated and sat in an armchair across from the redhead as the other men crawled into the bed, their weight dipping the mattress.

Crowley stared into Wick’s eyes dreamily, not a concern in the world. All he could think was, ‘He loves me.’

-

Crowley focused all of his energy into unloading box after box of books for Aziraphale. If he dared stop for even a moment his eyes would linger on the blonde’s thighs as he squatted to move a box from one place to another, or his arms, sleeves rolled back, as he checked the books had arrived in top condition. Both sights stirred up nothing but trouble, so Crowley sought to exhaust himself instead.

It didn’t stop him getting hot and bothered, with an emphasis on the former. It was already a muggy day, the London clouds threatening to let loose at any moment with habitual rain. At some point Crowley forgot himself and stripped off his shirt, shoving it into the waistband of his pants.

“Here’s the last three,” he announced as he carried the boxes inside, setting them carefully near the desk. Aziraphale had arranged for the furniture to arrive in advance, so only the task of unboxing his collection lay ahead of them.

The blonde turned toward him with a happy smile that quickly faded into something else. His bright blue eyes scanned up and down the redhead’s body greedily, forcing a stark change in the atmosphere.

Crowley looked down as if realizing his half-nudity for the first time and flushed. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “It’s unbearable out there. Can we turn up the AC?”

Aziraphale looked a little reluctant to do so before remembering himself. “Of course!” he chuffed. “Best for the books as well.” He scurried away to adjust the thermostat while Crowley threw his shirt back on. He was glad he’d been facing the blonde head on. He didn’t know what he’d say if his back had been on full display, and he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.

The pair busied themselves with unloading the books under Aziraphale’s careful direction, working closely next to one another all the while. Crowley was doing remarkably well given their proximity until the blonde accidentally dropped one of the volumes, and unthinkingly bent down, stiff legged, to retrieve it.

Crowley’s eyes locked on Aziraphale’s lush backside, panic rising in his throat as the urge to fall to his knees reached a fever pitch. He quickly jumped back, arms akimbo as he tried to regain his balance but ended up falling over.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, his neck craning around to look at the redhead.

Crowley glanced up and felt like he’d been broken into pieces at the sight. The blonde had one hand down on the book like he was about to hike an American football, but it was his eyes that shot an electric shock down Crowley’s spine. In his imagination he could see Aziraphale in the same pose but nude, begging for more.

With a chaotic burst of energy Crowley scrambled up, mumbling pathetic excuses and making toward the door. The disappointment and confusion on Aziraphale’s face was palpable, but he seemed to accept his friend’s sudden exit. Crowley barely made it out the door and into his car before peeling out, intent on finding the closest gay bar. Normally he’d take care of the problem himself but this was too much to deal with on his own.

He found his next hit within minutes, whispering something dirty into a young man’s ear before dragging him into the bathroom. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet. He found his release and sobbed long after the man was gone.

-

It took five or six visits to Dr. Device before Crowley began to talk about Wick, and even then he gave details haltingly. He described enough of the relationship for the therapist to pick up on the basic outline of events, and she was able to put together most of the details herself.

“It sounds like you had a very unhealthy connection to Abaddon,” she began.

Crowley frowned immediately. He’d never used Wick’s first name if he could avoid it. Most people called him by his surname or Ab for short. He nodded though, to show he was listening.

“And your experiences before him were very limited,” she went on. “What about after?”

Crowley’s fingers knit together unconsciously. “There is no after,” he said. “I haven’t been able to get close to anyone since then.”

“And when did your relationship end?” she asked.

The redhead counted out the months in his head before replying. “A year and some months back.”

“Traumatic events may necessitate a longer recovery period. Usually a few years at least. But it doesn’t sound like you’re looking to get into another relationship right away.”

“No,” Crowley confirmed, but there was something else on his mind and she could tell.

“Has someone caught your eye?” she asked.

“I…” Crowley stared at his hands and drew them apart. “Sort of. I don’t know him at all, but he comes into the coffee shop where I spend a lot of my time.”

Dr. Device smiled warmly. “Will you tell me about him?”

“He’s got blonde hair. It’s almost white. I think he’s a little older than me, but I’m not sure. He basically just comes in and orders the same thing every time before pulling out one of his books. Sometimes he chats with the staff, but he never comes in with anyone.”

“What do you like about him?” the therapist prompted.

Crowley blushed a little and tried to hide it. “He’s the complete opposite of Wick, at least physically. He’s like a ray of light. His clothes are outdated and comfortable looking. He smiles a lot. I don’t think he’d hurt a fly. In fact, I once saw him rescue a cricket and take it outside.”

“He sounds gentle,” Dr. Device commented. “Is he soft spoken?”

“Yes,” Crowley answered with a small smile on his face. “There’s not an ounce of false charisma about him. He’s just...genuine, as far as I can tell.”

Dr. Device crossed her legs and it didn’t escape Crowley’s attention, but any urges toward her had started to fade out weeks ago. The closer he got to someone, the less those needs ruled his body.

“Yet you haven’t talked to him directly,” she guessed.

Crowley shook his head. “I can’t. I’d never! Besides...what if everything I’ve observed is just a fantasy? He could be anyone deep down. I kind of don’t want to know the truth. I want to keep him on the pedestal I’ve created.”

“That sounds like a safe space for you...for now,” she smiled. “We may talk more about next steps in the future. But I agree that keeping your distance while you recover is the best way forward. Now then, let’s go back to your relationship with Wick…”

-

Crowley quickly developed an addiction to cocaine, which was readily available wherever they went. There were other drugs as well, and absolutely enormous amounts of alcohol. He did everything he could get his hands on, not realizing that his self-esteem was falling in direct correspondence to Wick’s treatment of him.

He’d never called Crowley anything other than his boyfriend, but Crowley knew their relationship had pivoted significantly from when they first met. Nearly a year in, Wick became more explicit about his intentions, no longer hiding what he wanted Crowley to do.

“We have an important client tonight,” he’d say, or “I need you to take very good care of our guest.” Sometimes he’d detail specific needs or fantasies that these men had, and Crowley would just nod, scratching at his palms as he tried to remember all of his instructions. Most of the time Wick would give him a bump beforehand, but sometimes he’d make him wait until his task had been finished. It was much worse to be lucid during these encounters, but it made it all the better when he could finally get high and forget. This pattern repeated so often that he came to associate the dopamine kick from drugs with sex, and sex itself with pleasing Wick. And so began the long, twisted cycle of equating his value through denigrating acts and behaviors.

It was only through his work with Dr. Device that he came to these realizations. At the time he’d believed everything was normal, or at least, tolerable enough to put up with. After working with his therapist for several months, he started to understand that even with sobriety, he still craved the feeling of satisfaction he got from sex, an even more potent high. In fact, maybe he’d never been high at all except the moment when someone took what they wanted from his body. The thought of it alone was enough for a long time afterward.

-

“I’m so sorry angel,” Crowley said when he found Aziraphale in the coffee shop a few days later. He was so overwhelmed with remorse that he barely noticed his use of the secret nickname, but it seemed to delight the blonde.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, “You don’t have to apologize. It must have been hours in! You were so kind to offer your help, and I think I owe you one, actually.”

“Not at all,” the redhead answered automatically. As if the angel could ever have a debt with him.

“Really though…” Aziraphale started. “I’d like to thank you for your help. And...I’d like to um...take you to dinner? If you’re agreeable to the idea.”

Crowley stared at the blonde with a blank face for several beats. “You want to take me to dinner? Like a...date?”

Aziraphale steeled himself and sat up a bit taller. “Yes. Like a date. I like you, Anthony. Is that okay?”

Crowley’s mind was nothing but a tabula rasa. He nodded absently. “Sure. Yeah. It’s more than okay.” It was fucking wonderful. He knew his face must have been betraying him when Aziraphale smiled shyly.

“Good,” the blonde said summarily. “Then it’s a date. Tomorrow evening...if you’re free.”

“Yes,” Crowley answered. And nothing, barring Armageddon itself, would prevent him.

-

The evening went off without a hitch. After a lovely night at the theater and dinner following, Crowley was certain they’d carved a little slice of heaven unto themselves. This was real, what they had between them, and all he needed to do was not fuck it up.

They ended up at Aziraphale’s afterward, and the blonde poured a few glasses of red for the pair to enjoy near the fireplace. Crowley found himself lost in the angel’s eyes, nodding more than was strictly necessary as Aziraphale regaled him with stories of his first week as a shopkeeper.

Maybe it was the drinks or the company or the strange way the moonlight slid into the bookstore like a thief in the night. Crowley hadn’t felt this comfortable with another person...maybe ever. So of course he went and ruined it all.

Aziraphale had been going on about one thing or another, the record in the background punctuating his story with occasional pops, and Crowley found himself strewn over the blonde’s lap, both arms trained on his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. His blue eyes stared back into Crowley’s knowingly, one hand clutching his wineglass like a lifeline.

“Angel…” Crowley mumbled. “I could fall in love with you right now.”

The blonde shifted under his weight and sighed dreamily. “Then why don’t you?” he giggled.

It was all Crowley needed to lean forward, claiming Aziraphale’s lips in the tenderest kiss he could manage. He closed over both before favoring the top and then the bottom, already feeling the heated need to be claimed. His hips thrust forward and the blonde groaned.

“Fuck,” Crowley broke off, his breath coming out in short gasps. “I didn’t mean to move so fast.”

Aziraphale smiled, straight white teeth on display. “It’s not so bad,” he assured the redhead. “Maybe we could um...move this upstairs.”

Crowley froze, a sinking sensation in his stomach overcoming his hellbent desire. “No,” he said suddenly. He jumped away from the blonde and held one hand over his heart reflexively. “I’m sorry…”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked. He leaned forward, but it only drove the redhead further away. He raked a hand through his shoulder-length hair and began to shake.

“I can’t!” Crowley shouted. “This isn’t how it should be with you!”

“Darling?” Aziraphale looked so confused.

Crowley began to breathe out in sharp bursts, panic overtaking his senses. “I’m not...I don’t deserve…” He looked up at the blonde as his eyes rolled back. “Angel?” Everything faded to black.

-

Crowley woke up with a throbbing headache in an unfamiliar bed, but not quite in the fashion he was used to. For starters, there were no naked strangers by his side. And instead of having to search for his clothing, he found them neatly folded by the bedside. Rather than waking up in the buff, he was wearing a pair of oversized tartan pajamas. Things were certainly taking a turn for him…

It wasn’t long before a soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and Aziraphale, of all people, entered the room with a concerned look on his face.

“I brought you some coffee and toast,” the angel said, offering a small tray to the redhead. “You took a nasty fall last night...and I think you suffered a panic attack. No real harm done, though.”

Crowley glanced around him and shrugged. “You kept me here? You could have called a taxi!”

Aziraphale stared him down with disbelief etched in his features. “You’re joking! You were in no state, my dear! And this way I could keep an eye on you.” He sat down on the bed and scrubbed a hand through the redhead’s hair in a calming gesture.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he offered.

Crowley wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never been taken care of in this manner, and certainly not after such a ludicrous display.

“I acted like an idiot,” he groused.

Aziraphale just smiled in a reassuring manner. “Not at all,” he chided. “You had a bit to drink and then well...I think there might be some things we should have discussed beforehand. Boundaries and expectations. Or other things you might want to tell me...if you feel comfortable sharing. I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need to confide in someone.”

Crowley stared at the blonde blankly, unsure of where to begin. Luckily, Aziraphale seemed to sense it.

“At your own pace,” Aziraphale added in a gentle whisper. “We have all the time in the world.”

Crowley was absolutely gobsmacked. “Really?” he asked tentatively.

The blonde enclosed Crowley’s hand with his own and nodded. “Anything you need,” he said heartfully.

-

“Anything he needs,” Wick answered in annoyance. “That’s what you’ll provide.”

Crowley cursed himself for asking. He’d already done a few lines and was drowning the last fifth of whiskey from the bottle. “Fine, fine,” he said through the phone. “When is he supposed to arrive?” He sat heavily on the hotel bed and tried to stay awake, but he was fading fast.

“Any minute now,” Wick replied. And he was right.

A knock at the door broke Crowley from his revery. He slipped his phone onto the dresser and swayed a little as he stood, but he could do it like this. Had before, anyways.

He opened the door and put on his best pout as he inspected his client. “Mr. Rogers?” he asked. The man nodded and stepped into the room. He was three times Crowley’s size, but that didn’t matter much.

“I was about to give up on you,” Crowley teased, walking backwards toward the bed.

The man frowned and shoved the redhead, hard. Crowley flew back, landing on the bed and scrambling slightly, but his movements were slowed by the drugs. “The fuck?” Crowley growled.

The man pushed Crowley down and held him fast by his shoulders. “I’m here to deliver a message,” he said roughly, pulling the redhead up and delivering a punishing blow to his jaw. Crowley bounced back against the bed, thoroughly disoriented. He let out a grunt of pain as the man climbed over him.

“Tell your boyfriend that he’s late on his payment. He’ll know what I’m talking about. My boss doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting. Got it?” He held up his fist like he was going to strike again and Crowley shrank back, nodding quickly.

The man smiled, revealing a row of crooked teeth. “Great. But...since I’m here…” He grabbed Crowley by the shoulder and flipped him over, pulling his tight trousers down to his knees.

Crowley tried to move away but it was useless. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, his brain listlessly leaving his tortured body behind.

-

“Did you often experience such brutality when working for Wick?” Dr. Device had asked after Crowley finally worked up the courage to reveal more details about his previous life.

“Working for him?” Crowley asked. He let out a dry laugh. “I hadn’t thought about it that way before. But I was, wasn’t I? It wasn’t a real relationship.”

“No, it wasn’t,” his therapist confirmed.

“That was the only time someone hurt me,” Crowley went on, responding to her earlier question. “Physically. But I can’t say things were ever consensual. Not really. I thought I had to do it to make Wick...love me.” He gagged over his last words, feeling bile rise in his throat.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Device said. “Those are very disturbing memories. You’re lucky you got out alive.”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed. “Wick wasn’t happy when I told him I was leaving.”

“And when did that happen?” the brunette asked.

“Not long after the incident in the hotel. We’d been arguing on the patio of the condo. I was so fed up...and scared...and I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Crowley stopped to wipe a few errant tears away, his heart was pounding just thinking about it.

“Anthony… What did Wick do to you?” Dr. Device prompted.

Crowley’s hand went unconsciously to his shoulder, right where the highest scar began. “I told him I was done. At first he laughed me off like he always does, but he could tell I was serious this time. He threatened me, tried to force me back against the balcony...and then I...he…” Crowley’s mouth had gone so dry it was difficult to speak. “He pushed me off.”

“This was in a condo you said, right?” the therapist asked. “How high up were you?”

“Miles and miles,” Crowley replied, his eyes focusing on something far away. “We lived on the seventieth floor. I was falling...clawing at the air, but there wasn’t anything to hold on to. I don’t know why it happened on that day at that time, but one of the neighbors was hosting a benefit about six floors down. The building was staggered…” He held up his hands trying to indicate the angle of the incline. “They’d set up this huge table filled with champagne glasses. That’s what I landed on. Glass everywhere. They operated on my back for five hours, trying to repair the damage.”

“Incredible,” Dr. Device breathed out. “And you lived to tell the story.”

Crowley cackled suddenly, a long breath wheezing out of him with the effort. “That’s not even the best part. The group that was being honored at the event...I can never wrap my head around this…”

“What was the group?” the therapist asked.

“Los Angeles de la Misericordia,” Crowley laughed. “Group of nuns from South America. The goddamned Angels of Mercy.”

-

Crowley mulled over that story in his head as he left Aziraphale’s place, musing that he’d now been twice saved by angels. The second time was even sweeter though, considering the softness of the fall. There was no doubt in his mind that he could love Aziraphale, if he didn’t already. He wondered vaguely what he’d done to deserve having a person like that in his life...

Crowley had barely crossed the threshold of his apartment before he was dialing the angel’s number, and held his breath as he heard a cute giggle on the other end.

“Miss me already?” Aziraphale asked.

“I do,” Crowley replied. “I really fucking do.”

Aziraphale chuckled warmly, and it saturated Crowley’s soul. “Listen…” the redhead began. “I’d like to hit reset on our date last night. Any chance I can make it up to you next weekend? I really want to...to do this right. The way you deserve.”

“Oh Anthony,” the blonde sighed. “You haven’t done anything wrong at all. I hope you know that. But given your offer...how could I refuse?”

“Say you won’t,” Crowley replied, leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen. One hand reached up and clenched at the fabric of his shirt, nervously.

“Then I won’t,” Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley breathed out, releasing the tension in his body. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday,” he promised. “Seven p.m. sharp.”

-

Crowley arrived at the bookshop five minutes early. He took his time making sure his hair looked perfect in the rear view before stepping out, moving up the steps to stand in front of Aziraphale’s door. He cleared his throat a few times before checking his watch. Two minutes til.

He knew he looked like a lunatic to the passers-by, balancing on the narrow top step as if waiting for a green light, but this was too important to take any chances. He’d said he’d be there at seven, and he wanted to prove he was a man of his word. Someone who could be trusted. At last the second hand moved into place, and he rapped on the door with a delighted smile on his lips. He was off to a good start.

Aziraphale came to the door, taking in Crowley’s immaculately tailored outfit before sighing in appreciation. “Hello lovely,” the blonde said.

Crowley strutted inside, obviously puffed up by the comment. “Well…” he said as he looked around. “This place has really come together!”

Aziraphale had managed to find homes for all of his books, even though some were stacked haphazardly on various tables around the shop. Crowley knew there was a method to his madness, however. He felt immensely proud of the blonde for managing it all by himself in such a short time.

“Are you ready for your first customer?” the redhead asked as he picked up one of the books and thumbed through it. He was surprised when Aziraphale slapped it out of his hand. Ever so gently, but still.

“Erm,” the blonde blushed, “Maybe not quite yet. I’d like to look at them a while longer.”

Crowley tried to hide his smile. He’d suspected that this ‘shop’ wasn’t going to do much business. It was just another endearing quality about Aziraphale. He was fiercely protective of the things he loved. Crowley wondered, just for a second, if he could be one of them. The thought made his stomach drop. Of course not. Idiot.

“Well then,” the redhead tried to recover, “Best get moving then. I’ve booked us dinner at the Ritz.”

“What??” Aziraphale cried out, one hand flying over his mouth. “You didn’t!”

Crowley leaned close to the blonde’s ear and practically purred. “Oh yes.” He held out his arm and the blonde took it greedily. Tonight was going to be one for the ages.

-

Dinner was going so wonderfully that Crowley hardly noticed the guttural gymnastics in his abdomen starting to sneak up on him. The more he and Aziraphale talked, the more he felt his pathetic heart wheeze and grow. It was like a spring thaw and though the ice dripped glacially at first, soon it turned into a roaring river, threatening to sweep Crowley away.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to gather that anything was amiss, but complimented every dish set before them and stared dreamily into the redhead’s eyes. They talked about everything and nothing, surging toward a kind of understanding and connection that most people only ever imagine. Somewhere between the second and third course, Crowley’s urges began to take over.

Through sheer will power, Crowley managed to not bend the blonde over the table and take him right there, but his foot was twitching at the ankle and his eyes were starting to jump around the room. He knew he was looking for a fix because he couldn’t go there with Aziraphale. Not yet. It would all be ruined.

His brain became a dumpster fire of lustful thoughts, and at last, he knew he couldn’t resist any longer. His eyes settled on a waiter and his nails dug into the table.

“Excuse me darling,” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting Aziraphale’s never ending stream of consciousness about bookbinding techniques. “I’m just going to pop to the loo for a moment. Wine goes right through me…” He cringed at his crass description but he needed to move quickly. He’d get this done and then they’d be right back on track.

Crowley slunk from the table and grazed the waiter’s wrist, winking conspiratorially. The younger man knew immediately what Crowley was offering and accepted, making an excuse to the table he’d been refilling drinks for.

Inside the bathroom, Crowley practically threw the man into the closest stall and began to fumble with his belt buckle as he sank to his knees.

“Fuck my mouth,” Crowley demanded as he finally freed the waiter, half-hard and raring to go.

“Shit,” the waiter cursed. “Are you sure man?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?” Crowley hissed. His eyes were blown and desperate. “Now fuck. My. Mouth.”

Aziraphale waited patiently at the table, but when he’d finished his wine he started to worry. He wondered if Crowley had gotten lost or worse still...maybe he’d taken ill. Not wanting to disturb his privacy he waited a little longer, but eventually he decided he might need to provide assistance. He stood from the table, delicately dabbing at his lips with his napkin before setting out to find his date.

In the bathroom, the waiter was taking his sweet time, and Crowley tried to hurry him up by playing with his balls. He hummed low and deep in his throat, finally causing the younger man to release himself in spurts. Crowely drank it all down, feeling the burn in the back of his throat like potent medicine. Even if he didn’t get off, doing it to someone else was a high.

Crowley stood up from the floor, dusting off the knees of his trousers. “Took you long enough,” he complained.

The waiter snickered, tucking himself back in. “Who’d rush with a mouth as sweet as yours?” he replied. And then, “So...can I get your number?”

“Hardly,” Crowley sneered, flinging open the stall door.

The sight on the other side stopped him cold. Aziraphale was standing in the center of the room, frozen.

“Anthony?” he asked in a broken voice. “I...just came to check on you and…” His eyes went meaningfully to the waiter who was stepping past the redhead. The boy snickered to himself before walking out of the bathroom.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley blanched. “It’s not what it looks like…”

The blonde raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. Any explanation. When none came he turned on his heel and walked out, flanked immediately by his date. Crowley was hot on his heels even as their waiter appeared, trailing the couple.

“Your bill sir!” the waiter demanded, bringing out a black check holder.

Crowley jammed his hand into his pocket and littered the air with bills, not even bothering to turn around. Instead, he chased Aziraphale down into the street, boxing him in when he stopped at the curb looking confused.

“Angel, please!” the redhead cried. Tears were falling freely from his amber eyes by then.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Aziraphale asked, any sign of previous heartbreak gone. He looked...put out, but not particularly upset the way he should have been. “Who does that? You just gave a complete stranger a blowjob in a bathroom. On our second date!”

“I don’t…” Crowley’s face twisted in agony. “It’s so hard to explain!”

Aziraphale actually laughed. “I’d imagine!” He began to walk down the sidewalk, but they must have been twenty blocks from his bookshop.

“I want to explain!” Crowley promised. “Aziraphale, I know you’re worth more than me. I know I don’t deserve to even look you in the eyes. I’m a freak and a slut and a fucking loser!”

Crowley’s words were pouring out faster than he could keep up with. He was quickly becoming hysterical, tearing at his own clothing as he tried to express the shit thoughts that were screaming over one another in his brain.

Aziraphale stopped and turned around, shock etched over his features.

“I’m nothing!” Crowley went on. “Don’t you see that? And you...you’re like the stars in the sky to me. You’re something I’ve only ever dreamed about! I wanted to touch you but I wouldn’t dare! And now you hate me and that...that makes perfect sense! You should hate me! I’m sorry I did that just now up there, but more than that, I’m sorry I even put myself in your sight.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out.

“I saw you in the coffee shop and I pretended for just a minute,” Crowley’s babbling was speeding up even as he seemed to visibly calm himself. “I pretended that I was normal and we could just talk, you know? And then I met you and you were beyond perfect. Everything I’d ever wanted. But you don’t know about me and what I’ve done. I’m a monster, Aziraphale. What happened up there just now? That was a cake walk. So you should run. Run and run and don’t ever look back. Not at me. Not at me, angel.”

Crowley finally seemed to run out of steam and was frantically wiping the tears away from his face. His mouth settled into a deep frown and he nodded once as if to signal he was finished. His head jerked one way, then another, and then he turned around completely, moving off in the opposite directly with his arms tucked closely around his torso. He might as well have been bleeding out for the way he held himself.

Aziraphale watched him go, hardly able to wrap his brain over everything that had just happened. Failing in that, he turned stiffly toward the direction of his bookshop, putting one foot in front of another.

-

Dr. Device didn’t normally schedule emergency appointments, but she made an exception for Crowley. The redhead oozed into her office as if he’d lost every bone in his body. His posture was alarming enough, but his eyes were even more haunted.

“Have you been using, Anthony?” she asked gently.

“No,” he replied. “I mean...I should be at this point, given everything. But no.”

“Tell me what happened,” the brunette prompted. “I couldn’t quite understand everything over the phone. And the voicemail cut out halfway…”

Crowley stared at the floor, but eventually got it all out in the open. When he was finished he was afraid to look his therapist in the eyes. “He’ll never speak to me again, will he?”

Dr. Device settled her chin into the palm of her hand. “Have you reached out?”

“No!” Crowley gasped. “He wouldn’t even pick up the phone after what I did! What I said!”

“Mm,” the therapist nodded. “And how do you know that?”

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley grumbled. “No one on earth...no one in their right mind would give me another chance after that.”

“Ah,” Dr. Device replied. “Is that what you want, though? Another chance?”

The redhead’s lower lip trembled. “Not unless I can offer him something real. I have to fix myself, Anathema. I have to be something worth having. And I can’t do that if I’m still stuck in this recursive loop.”

Dr. Device leaned back in her chair. “That is a very self-aware statement, Anthony. You’ve come a long way.”

“So the question is...how do I fix me?” Crowley replied.

-

Crowley stared up into the blinking fluorescent lights. The ceiling was all hanging tiles with perforated holes in them. If he looked long enough, they all blurred together.

“Anthony Crowley?” a deep voice asked through his haze. A man leaned over him, his face full of bright white teeth. “I’m Dr. Gabriel,” he announced.

“How bad is it?” Crowley asked, wincing at the rasp in his voice. His lungs felt like lead balloons.

“You were in surgery nearly all night,” Dr. Gabriel reported, but we managed to patch up most of the damage. You broke and fractured several lumbar vertebrae compounded by multiple bleeds from the glass you landed on. You’re going to walk away from this, but there will be a lot of scarring and a long bout of physical therapy to look forward to. It won’t be easy.”

“How long will it take to heal?” Crowley questioned. He tried to adjust himself on the bed but the doctor kept him down.

“Longer than you’d imagine. Given the extent of your injuries and the surgical procedures, I’d say up to three months. This isn’t the kind of thing you bounce back from in just a few weeks. Now tell me Mr. Crowley...do you have someone who can help you during your recovery?” the doctor looked into his eyes with sincere concern.

“No,” Crowley answered. “It’s just me. I have to do this on my own.”

-

Dr. Device started Crowley on cognitive behavioral therapy during sessions and books for him to read on his own. In addition to the new routine, she asked the redhead to begin a series of correspondence to various players, both past and present, in his life. While these were never meant to be sent, and in some cases impossible to do so, (Crowley’s parents were long gone, for example) Dr. Device explained that letters often served as cathartic outlets for her clients.

Crowley spent days and then weeks writing to Wick. Sometimes the letters were little more than pen stabs in the paper, but more often they outlined every injustice and inhumane thing the man had ever done to him. He wrote to the men that had used him as well, beginning each letter with ‘Dear Anonymous,’ followed by a number. Despite all the drugs he’d used, he still remembered the number of encounters he’d had, and decided he had something unique to tell each and every one of them.

At last it came time to write to Aziraphale, and here he faltered. He’d already written out a confessional in multiple volumes through the other letters, and since this was his own exercise he didn’t want to repeat everything, so he settled on a few choice words.

‘Angel. I’ve spent my whole life trying to find my way to you, but when I did I wasn’t nearly ready. How can fate be so cruel? Had I just a little more time to sort myself out, I know I wouldn’t have failed you the way I did. I still want to thank you though, for being who you are. I wouldn’t have believed it was possible for a person so filled with light and love to exist. You made me believe again, in so many things, but most of all, myself. A.C.’

Crowley cried profusely as he wrote the short letter. It seemed ridiculous to feel this strongly about someone he hardly knew, but his admiration was real. Aziraphale had been a beacon in the dark, even when he was just a fantasy. Crowley wished he could have an opportunity to tell him everything in person, but he knew it wasn’t fair to drag the angel through his own emotional wreckage. It was time to let go. So he did.

-

Six months later, Crowley packed up all the letters he’d written into a box and took them to Dr. Device’s office. He’d decided that he wanted to burn them, but not before sharing them with his therapist. He read a few of them aloud, leaving the rest to continue during a later session, including the one addressed to Aziraphale. He was almost ready to confront the reality of reading that letter again, but not quite. He dropped it on top of the box, staring wistfully at the address line. ‘A.Z. Fell and Co., Antiquarian and Unusual Books.’ He wondered how the shop was doing.

“I’m very proud of you,” Dr. Device said as she led him out of the private exit for her patients. “It takes a lot of courage to confront the truths and struggles you’ve dealt with.”

Crowley took a deep breath. “It feels good,” he admitted. “I haven’t even looked for a hit over the last several months. I just feel...renewed.”

Dr. Device smiled as she opened the door for him, nearly dodging being run over by a harried looking brunette man in glasses. “Newt!” she scolded. “How many times have I told you to use the regular entry?”

The man looked abashed and blushed profusely.

“Sorry about this,” Dr. Device apologized, “Newt is my new assistant. You’ll see him around the office now and again.”

“Hey Newt,” Crowley said, extending his hand.

The brunette shook it tentatively, still embarrassed by his recent gaffe. One of many to come. “I’m so sorry Anathema, I mean, Doctor!” he stammered. “I just forgot to grab your outgoing mail. I’m going to run up and then I’ll be out of your hair!” The man bounded up the stairs without another glance behind him.

“He seems sweet,” Crowley said, eyeing his therapist.

“Don’t start,” Dr. Device warned, a coy smile playing over her lips. “We’re not scheduled for another few weeks. Feel free to reach out before then if anything comes up.”

Crowley chuckled, heading out the exit. “You know...I think I’ll be just fine,” he replied. He walked off, feeling lighter than he ever had before.

-

Aziraphale hummed to himself at the front desk as he unboxed several packages, nearly all of them books he’d won at auction. He was excited to see them in person for the first time, each in peak condition as they had been described. He was nearly finished with his task when his hands closed over the last box, and was puzzled to find what looked like a manuscript in progress inside. Pages and pages of letters stared back up at him. Perhaps one of the auction houses had boxed them up by mistake.

He reached for his tea and pulled out the first bundle, ignoring the single loose sheet that fluttered to the ground. He’d get to that later. He sat back in his chair, unbinding the twine around the stack and picking up the first of several pages.

“Dear Wick,” it read. “You piece of fucking shit…”

“Ooh,” Aziraphale breathed out. He wiggled in his chair. He’d always been a sucker for drama.

-

The birds began to chirp and Aziraphale blinked his blurry eyes. He hadn’t even realized it was dawn. He’d been reading for hours. Initially he believed he’d stumbled upon some unpublished work of fiction, particularly given the extraordinary events detailed within, but after finishing the first stack he realized that the same set of initials signed off everytime. These were letters...and he had a sinking sensation that they were real.

While many were addressed to people he’d never heard of, he could divine from the content how each of them played a part in the same person’s life. There was Wick, the abusive lover and owner of some kind of organized crime syndicate. One must have been a parent, given the tone of the letter and references to ‘home.’ Another was definitely a past lover, but the relationship sounded quite innocent in nature. Someone from the writer’s youth, no doubt. A few appeared to be friends that had fallen out of touch, and one was addressed to a doctor who had overseen a long and extensive hospital stay. But it was the anonymous letters that were the most mysterious...

The more he read, the more he put the pieces together. These were individuals who had all treated the author like an object, sexually, emotionally, and physically. Occasional references to Wick made the picture even clearer that they had contracted for services that the writer did not offer freely. These were clients, he realized. Wick had been prostituting the writer.

Aziraphale’s expression couldn’t capture the disgust he felt. His heart felt broken, and over a complete stranger, nonetheless. It was sickening. How could someone even begin to recover from an ordeal like that? As he finished the last stack of correspondence, Aziraphale pushed back his chair, steeling his body against inevitable cricks and pains. When was the last time he’d even moved?

He pushed against his neck, forcing it to turn stubbornly as he stretched his back. It was then that he looked down for the first time, seeing the single sheet of paper on the floor. He stooped, immediately regretting it, but was able to secure the page before rising up again. He flicked the paper, settling his eyes on the brief paragraph that followed. He’d only read the first word when bile rose up in his throat.

“No,” he whispered. “Oh no! Anthony!”

-

Crowley was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he skipped up the steps to Dr. Device’s office. He’d been putting so much work into his self care, and now he was finally ready to close the book on his past life. There was just one thing left to do.

Dr. Device greeted him enthusiastically, sensing the enormous weight that had been lifted from her client’s shoulders. He seemed like a new man, and in many ways, he was.

“Ready to get started?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Crowley said. He looked over into the corner where he’d left his box and lifted one eyebrow. It wasn’t there. Curious, he searched around behind the therapist’s couch but couldn’t find it there either.

“Looking for something?” Dr. Device called out. She was busy organizing a few folders on her desk in preparation for their session.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, his voice coming out higher than usual. “I left my letters here last time. Could have sworn they were just by the door. Maybe I took them with me? I don’t remember carrying the box out.”

Dr. Device paused in her task and shrugged. “I don’t think you did,” she said.

Crowley scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a small breath of air. “They must be around here somewhere. Newt hasn’t been rearranging things on you has he?”

“Ha!” Dr. Device answered. “That kid couldn’t rearrange his own feet. Don’t know why I keep him around. Do you know he got lost on his way to the post office last week? Or was that the week before… Anyways, I don’t think he’d-”

“Shit!” Crowley screamed, startling the brunette. “Fuck! Bugger! Shitfuckwankerarse!”

“Anthony!” Dr. Device cried over him. “What’s wrong?”

“He mailed it!” the redhead bellowed. “He bloody mailed my box!” He darted around the office as if to confirm it, tearing at his hair. “Oh...I...This is...No wait. There wasn’t an address.” His near-hyperventilation began to abate. “Of course! Haha. No one to send it to! God I can’t believe I almost…”

Crowley cut himself off again, his face going paler than a sheet. Dr. Device didn’t even have time to process his varied and circuitive reactions, because suddenly he was running out of the office like the devil was on his heels. The door slammed behind him as he fled.

-

Crowley burst into the bookshop, hardly taking note of the shocked customer who let out a small cry of surprise. Instead, his eyes trained on the blonde at the desk. Aziraphale looked up, his gaze locking on Crowley’s. It was too late.

The customer seemed to sense the delicate moment, and left quickly, nodding to the shopkeep, who didn’t bother to acknowledge her.

“Aziraphale, I…” Crowley stumbled forward, his hand raising as if to do something more useful than freeze in the air. He lowered it immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “Those letters were never meant to come to you. Or anyone! My therapist asked me to write them as an exercise and her daft assistant stuck them in the mail like a total idiot. And now I’m an idiot...standing here...the last person on the planet you’d want to see. I don’t even know why I came here I just hoped...I hoped you hadn’t read them. But I can see you did.”

Aziraphale nodded as he stood up. “I did.” His eyes were brimming with tears, and Crowley didn’t know what to do with that.

“You...you don’t have to feel sorry for me,” Crowley rushed on. “Those things that happened to me are no excuse for what I’ve done to you. I don’t want you to feel obligated about anything. Not even to forgive me. I didn’t come here to get something from you, if you’re worried about that.”

Aziraphale moved forward and Crowley resisted the urge to step back. The blonde walked on unsteady legs, his body moving rigidly as he came to a stop just inches away. Quietly, he took Crowley’s hand in his own, staring at his fingers before pressing them to his lips. Crowley shivered, more uncertain than ever.

“I once told you that I was here for you, that you could confide in me,” Aziraphale said softly. “I know now that I was asking for the impossible. How could I have expected you to tell me those things...the trauma and the suffering you experienced? I don’t know how anyone can even process something like that.”

Crowley’s heart was in his throat, and he swallowed it back down as the blonde’s piercing blue eyes looked right into the depths of his soul.

“I know you didn’t mean for those letters to come to me,” he said. “But I’m glad they did. I feel like I know you in a way that I’ve never known anyone before. I can only hope you trust me to keep it...everything that you shared in those letters...in the highest confidentiality. I don’t want you to be alone with it, Anthony. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Crowley’s face shifted, an impossible vulnerability emanating from within. It was so delicate words might break it, yet Aziraphale was speaking to him all the same. The blonde eventually let go of his hand, but it felt like he was holding it still. His brows lifted then, a sudden and obvious thought occurred to him.

“Would you like some tea?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley stared at him before letting out a deep and profound breath. “Yeah,” he replied. “I really would.”

-

Crowley was surprised when he sat down with the blonde for the first time, after not seeing each other for so long and everything that had happened in between, to realize just how easy it was. Now that Aziraphale knew Crowley’s secrets there were no more dizzying panic attacks. There was nothing to hide or run from. His urges, muted after months of therapy, did not renew themselves. Instead he felt a deep, liquid warmth in his limbs. A reassuring nuzzle in the back of his brain. Aziraphale knew him. He knew everything. And he did not reject him.

They talked for hours that day, and Crowley was surprised when the blonde invited him back.

“You’ll come again, tomorrow?” he’d said. Crowley nodded. Of course he would.

It didn’t take long for tea with Aziraphale to become a regular thing, and then it was lunches and dinners. Casual strolls and trips to the park. They developed a friendship like Crowley had never had, and he cherished it absolutely. It felt in many ways like a long, brutal war had come to an end, and now they were free to enjoy the world around them all over again.

Of course, this didn’t mean that Crowley hadn’t fallen absolutely head over heels for the man. No, his eyes lingered on every facet of the blonde’s face. His ruddy cheeks when he laughed. The way he’d assess something to his liking or roll his eyes at things that displeased him. Crowley would stare at Aziraphale’s fingers curling around a spoon, and indulge in the way his eyes sparkled when he was being mischievous. Everything the man did was a miracle, and Crowley would have fallen to his knees if he’d lacked the last shred of sense left to him.

Because he wouldn’t ever presume that his feelings were reciprocated on that level. He wouldn’t dare risk what they had built on the off-chance that Aziraphale loved him as well. Crowley still struggled with his own self-esteem, and particularly, with learning to love himself, though he’d made several gains. More importantly, what crippled him was the thought of ever hurting his angel again. The thought of letting him down, even something trivial, was too much to bear. Crowley didn’t trust himself to try.

-

It was nearly a year later, and on a rather uneventful day that Aziraphale invited Crowley to visit the botanical garden with him. The redhead had taken up an interest in plants and even began to work on a series of paintings with his growing collection of greenery. He had blushed when the blonde encouraged him to exhibit his work, finding excuse after excuse about why he wasn’t ready. He knew that this trip was an unspoken inducement, but appreciated the gesture anyways.

“Here’s a fascinating subject,” Aziraphale said, pointing toward a Bird of Paradise. “Even sort of looks like you.”

“Oi!” Crowley objected, but he had to admit the profile mimicked his expertly coiffed hair.

The two bantered around like this, squeezing each other’s arms and giggling like children as they cavorted through the gardens, each more stunning than the last. Eventually they reached the Arboretum and wandered under the canopy, shafts of sunlight breaking through to warm their faces. It was almost too picturesque, Crowley thought, but then Aziraphale was knitting his arm through his own.

“Anthony…” the blonde began. “I’ve been thinking about something for a long time now. I just wondered if- Anthony?”

Aziraphale nudged his companion to gain back his attention, which was focused on the other side of a Black Locust tree. Anthony’s gaze was hard, his mouth turned down in a severe expression. The blonde followed the direction of his unwavering stare, but saw nothing of note other than a dark-haired man taking in the view.

“Anthony,” Aziraphale tried again. Crowley had started to tremble, his legs giving out a bit as he attempted to keep upright.

“It’s him,” the redhead said, voice broken and weak. “It’s Wick. I have to get out of here.”

Aziraphale’s face turned to stone as he looked back at the figure.

“Please, angel,” Crowley begged, his fingers digging into his friend’s arm.

Aziraphale was torn between tending to Crowley and crossing the lawn...to do what exactly remained to be seen, but his friend won out in the end.

“Of course, dear,” the blonde said quietly, and began to steer the redhead back toward the entrance of the garden. A guttural bellow chased after them.

“Crowley!” the voice called out, arresting the redhead on the spot. Wick was just a few feet behind them and closing in fast.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s arm as the man cut in front of them. “I thought that was you,” Wick purred.

“What do you want?” Crowley shot back, eyes trained on the ground.

“Me?” Wick sounded genuinely unaffected. “Nothing I just… Oh, Crowley. Is this about the accident? Don’t tell me you’re still upset after all this time. You were compensated well enough as I recall.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open at the flagrant gaslighting. “Accident!” he chirped.

Wick’s eyes flickered over to the blonde’s, seeming to assess and dismiss him in one blink. “Replaced me already?” he asked, turning his attention back to Crowley as he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “But then, what would you be without a dom?”

“That’s quite enough!” Aziraphale barked, surprising himself. “You can see Anthony has no desire to speak with you, and nor do I. We are leaving.”

“Suit yourself,” Wick shrugged. “It was lovely to see you...Anthony.”

Crowley tensed but allowed himself to be dragged away from further confrontation. The pair said nothing as they drove back to the shop, and Aziraphale could sense that Crowley was holding himself together by a thread. Once they walked into the bookstore, he finally crumbled, leaning over the sofa and resting his forehead on the upholstery.

“‘M Sorry,” Crowley mumbled into the fabric. Aziraphale sat next to him, one hand coming to rest against the redhead’s back.

“Whatever for?” the blonde said soothingly. “It wasn’t your decision to see him, Anthony. And I’m more worried about you for having experienced it. Are you okay my dearest?”

Crowley lifted his head, making eye contact with the blonde for the first time. His face was streaked with tears and his breaths came out in little huffs. “I don’t...I’m not!” The dam broke and his face contorted into abject misery as Aziraphale drew him into his arms carefully.

“Shh, my darling,” the blonde whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let you go.”

“I just…” Crowley rasped against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I thought I’d put it all behind me. I thought I was stronger!”

“You are!” Aziraphale bolstered. “Everything you’re feeling right now is natural and just. Of course it hurts all over again - like reopening a wound.”

Crowley calmed a little in his arms, reluctant to leave the warm comfort they provided. He sniffed loudly and tucked his legs up under his body. “I’m so glad you were there,” he said at last. “I don’t know what would have happened if I had been alone.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said as he ducked his head and buried his face in Crowley’s hair. “I’m glad we were together as well. Whatever I can provide, Anthony, in friendship or support, I will. I’ll always be here for you.”

Crowley’s grip tightened on the blonde and he forced his head up to look at his friend properly. “You really mean that, don’t you?” His tears had finally dried in long tracks on his cheeks.

“You know I do,” Aziraphale answered, his soft blue eyes emanating his sincerity. He blinked and looked away. “This isn’t the most opportune time, but...I was going to say something earlier and I’d still like to say it. Perhaps I’m being selfish.”

Crowley straightened up without releasing the blonde, his full attention gathered. “What is it?”

Aziraphale sighed and smiled, doing a little wiggle as he weighed his words carefully in his mind. The quirk made Crowley’s insides go fuzzy with adoration.

“It’s just that we’ve spent so much time together and I cherish our friendship,” the blonde began. His fingertips traced down Crowley’s arm until they rested over his hand. “But I can’t deny the stronger feelings that have grown out of it. When I look at you Anthony, I feel a kind of completeness and belonging.”

Crowley stared at the man, dumbfounded. “What are you saying?” he asked softly.

“I suppose I’m saying that I care for you deeply. In fact your happiness is tantamount to my own. I don’t want to move too quickly, to scare you off. I know what you’ve been through already, and seeing it today drove that point home in so many ways. But I’d like to try, if you want to try...to be together, the way I think we should be.” Aziraphale finished his speech and eyed the redhead carefully.

Crowley’s knees were draped over the blonde’s, their fingers intertwined and faces mere inches apart. “I’m such a mess,” he breathed out. “It’s not...it won’t be easy with me.”

Aziraphale smiled knowingly. “You’re worth every effort to me.”

Crowley’s eyes went infinitely soft before they closed and he found his lips were pressing against Aziraphale’s. The kiss was lighter than a feather but seemed to communicate the heaviness of the trust placed in one another. Crowley felt the whisper of his old urge to hurry this on, to get to the inevitable high of completion, but he bit it back down with a whimper. Aziraphale seemed to sense his shifting mood and pulled back, just enough to see into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he promised.

Crowley smiled despite himself. “I want to lose myself in you in every possible way, but I also want to prove that I can show up for you. I feel these demons battling inside of me...but you’ll help me fight them, right? You can help me from...going too fast. Ruining it.”

“We’ll do it together, darling,” Aziraphale agreed. “All of it.”

-

Crowley came by the shop after an appointment with his therapist, which all things considered, had gone rather well. Dr. Device had agreed that Crowley was in a good space to explore a new relationship, but emphasized the importance of going slowly and having open communication. If Crowley got scared or overwhelmed, he was to let his partner know immediately rather than bottle things up. It was a frightening prospect, but he knew Aziraphale was worth it.

After seeing each other for a few months and not progressing beyond some heated makeout sessions, Crowley had decided he was ready to take the next step, and came prepared.

He held up an expensive bottle of red as he entered like a returning conqueror, which drew a knowing smile from the blonde.

“My hero,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Ah,” Crowley returned, fishing in his back pocket and bringing out a small bag of confections. “And this.”

“My savior, then,” Aziraphale decided. He stood to embrace his partner, dealing him a tender kiss before pulling away, but Crowely chased his lips.

“Not so fast,” the redhead whispered. He sank his mouth over Aziraphale’s, drawing a surprised but pleased sound from the blonde. Crowley rested his offerings on the desk as he backed Aziraphale up against it.

“Now then,” Crowley mumbled. “Where’s that spot that makes you sigh?” His wet lips trailed down Aziraphale’s neck and sucked at the vulnerable skin there.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale moaned.

Crowley bucked his hips and pressed his half-hard cock against the blonde. “I need you, angel.”

Aziraphale’s head sank back and he moaned as Crowley began to work his way down, fingers flexing against his chest, his sides, and then his hips. Soon, they rested on the blonde’s belt.

“Anthony…” Aziraphale groaned. “Are you sure?”

“Mmm so,” Crowley growled, but Aziraphale was already arresting his hands.

“Upstairs,” he pleaded. He walked across the shop and bolted the door before turning around with a smile. “After you,” he issued.

Crowley walked up the steps to the flat, a place he’d only visited infrequently. Most of their time was spent in the shop proper, the upstairs space seeming more private and exclusive. Crowley knew this was Aziraphale’s way of inviting him into his world, one that they could share together.

Crowley wanted nothing more than to pull Aziraphale flush against him, to fuck him artlessly, but he mindfully relaxed his tense muscles and tried to enjoy the moment instead. He let his angel guide him to the small bedroom where they sat together on the lush duvet.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said. “Please tell me if you need to stop. I want everything between us to be perfect. Promise you’ll let me know if it isn’t.”

Crowley nodded his head and licked his lips. It had been months and months since he’d been with anyone this way, and a tiny part of him worried that it wouldn’t be good enough for the blonde.

“None of that,” Aziraphale said as he leaned in, reading Crowley like one of his well-loved books. “There’s nothing to fear.”

Crowley laid back and Aziraphale’s hands skimmed over his torso, taking his time as he unbuttoned the tight black oxford Crowley wore like a second skin.

“So lovely,” Aziraphale breathed. “Every inch of you.” His lips chased after each open button, worshipping the skin it revealed.

Crowley sighed as he weaved his fingers into the blonde curls, resisting the urge to push Aziraphale’s head down. NowFasterGetMeOff. No, they had time. More than enough of it. So many negative patterns to break.

At last Crowley felt the angel’s hands on his trousers, pulling at his belt and bringing down the zip.

“I want to take care of you, Anthony,” Aziraphale said with a blush. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Crowley answered in a choked voice, realizing that no one had ever asked for any level of consent from him in the bedroom. Aziraphale’s fingers traced the outline of his erection before freeing it from his pants to stand alert and ready for the angel’s devotion. Watching Aziraphale’s face so close to his cock was enough to send shivers down his spine, but it also brought back an unexpected and unpleasant memory. A stranger’s face in his lap...his body froze.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and Crowley panicked. “No!” he cried out, not wanting to associate anything negative with his angel. “I mean, can you come up here? With me?”

The blonde blinked and smiled, drawing himself up the redhead’s body. “Of course love,” he whispered. “What do you need?”

“I need you closer! Just kiss me, please,” Crowley begged, and Aziraphale obliged him, his hand resting comfortably on the redhead’s stomach. As the kiss became more passionate Crowley found the blonde’s hand and guided it lower. “You can still touch me, if you want,” he said meekly.

“Oh Anthony,” Aziraphale purred. “I do want. Want to feel you…” His fingers curled around Crowley’s length and stroked slowly, eliciting a shuddering gasp from the redhead. “I want to know how you like to be touched,” he went on, alternating his grip and speed. “I want to feel you come apart.”

Aziraphale’s voice rumbled in his chest, and Crowley could feel the vibration like a balm. He took in a sharp breath and gave into the care of Aziraphale’s soft and careful hand. It moved deftly, wringing out the first drops as Crowley thrust up, helping Aziraphale gather and coat his cock in his own slick.

“Oh fuck!” Crowley sang as Aziraphale explored new ways to touch him. At the base and head, just lower to cradle his balls. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he worked himself toward a fever pitch.

“God, you’re lovely,” Aziraphale gasped into his ear. “I could stroke you forever, Anthony.”

“Mm! It’s too good! I’m not going to last like this,” Crowley objected, but it seemed to delight the angel.

“So don’t,” he whispered. “I want you to come. You deserve it darling.”

Crowley was helpless, melting deliciously under Aziraphale’s expert hand. He felt his impending orgasm spasm through his body, his ejaculate pumping out in thick spurts as Aziraphale took the opportunity to kiss him again, maddeningly slow. He pulled him into his arms, cradling him like the most precious thing in the world. “So beautiful, my darling,” he said, and Crowley felt it. He felt beautiful and protected, and so, so cherished. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, someone had made love to him. And here his angel had done it merely with his hand.

Immediately he began to feel guilty about how things had gotten changed round. He was going to please Aziraphale initially, after all. Crowley reached out, searching for the blonde’s trousers, but Aziraphale seized the wandering fingers and held them to his lips instead. “Later,” he sighed, folding Crowley back into a little spoon. “Now I just want to hold you.”

Crowley didn’t bother to hide the happy tear sliding down his cheek as he nuzzled into the pillow. And soon, he was fast asleep.

-

“Last night didn’t go exactly how I’d planned,” Crowley said sheepishly. He’d woken up to the soft sound of Aziraphale humming as he stroked through the redhead’s hair.

“Is that so?” the blonde asked lazily. “I rather enjoyed myself. Watching you come undone was ever so luscious.”

Crowley’s heart sped up, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s soft arm around him. “I’m not used to being the center of attention,” he laughed. “I mean I haven’t...done anything for myself in a long time.”

“Did it bother you?” the blonde asked, lips coming down to trace over Crowley’s ear.

“Nnn,” Crowley attempted to answer, his voice failing him. “No. No, I liked it with you. It made me feel...like I was yours.”

“Ohh,” Aziraphale purred, drawing him into a tighter hug from behind. “Because you are, my dear.” He kissed the tender ticklish spot behind the redhead’s ear and earned a heady giggle for it.

“But I’d wanted…” Crowley began and then stopped himself, feeling oddly childish. “I’d meant to please you. And I still want to.”

Aziraphale intertwined their fingers and settled their palms over Crowley’s chest. “I’m not against it,” he sighed. “But I do want to emphasize that not everything has to be tit for tat. Sometimes I’ll just want to show you affection...to give you something with no expectation of return. And other times...I’ll fuck you into the mattress until you beg me to come.”

Crowley felt a hot wave pulse through his body, suddenly flushed and needing more than a little oxygen in his choked lungs. “Wuuuhhh...you can’t just say things like that,” he gasped. He twisted around and narrowed his eyes at the blonde, who was looking rather guileless.

“Hm?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

“Alright. That’s it,” Crowley growled. He sprang on top of his partner and began to tickle him relentlessly, the two collapsing into convulsions and fits of laughter.

It was easy that way, Crowley realized as tickling transitioned back into snuggling, and then an unscheduled early morning nap. It was just easy.

-

The pair walked along the crowded streets of Soho, bumping shoulders every few feet as if their bodies were unconsciously vying to get closer. Aziraphale pointed out the shop he’d wanted to visit and ducked inside while Crowley checked out some of the wares on the sidewalk, mostly knick-knacks.

The redhead was absorbed in sniffing every type of incense when a hand landed on his hip, causing him to jerk his head up. While he couldn’t have named the man behind him beyond ‘Anonymous #37, he certainly recognized his face. Not unpleasant, except for the memories associated with him.

“Crowley, right?” the man purred. “You’re looking very fit. A sight for sore eyes.”

Crowley’s eyes went to the ground. His first instinct was submission, even though he was aware of it and hated himself for it. His lower lip trembled.

“Listen,” the man went on. “I need a pick-me-up. Why don’t you and I go ‘round the corner and get things sorted? You’ll be good to me, won’t you Crowley?”

The redhead felt a tear fall down his flushing cheek. His entire body was starting to tremble. He looked up hopefully at the shop, but Aziraphale was still browsing. Against every fiber of his being, Crowley nodded. He was broken. Irrevocably broken.

The man started to pull at Crowley’s hips and the redhead sank his fingers into the table in front of him, his body resisting even when his psyche betrayed him. That was a new one.

“Hey,” the man groused. “What’s the hold up? I’ve got plenty of cash if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, fixed on the shop door. ‘Please Aziraphale,’ he begged in his mind.

“Alright, I’m tired of this game,” the man muttered, yanking Crowley back with the intent of pulling him into the abyss. Crowley’s arms went up and out, flailing back toward his angel who finally, miraculously appeared.

“What the hell are you doing to my boyfriend?” Aziraphale demanded, one hand primly holding a gift bag. For all of his careful affectations, the blonde could command a near holy sense of presence when he wanted to. The stranger immediately dropped his hold on Crowley.

“Fucking tease,” the man complained before disappearing into the crowd.

Crowley scrabbled back to his angel and fisted his hands in the cream-colored jacket he always wore. The look on his face was enough for Aziraphale to determine their outing had come to an end.

“Let’s get you home,” he said gently. “We’ll talk about this over a hot cuppa.”

Crowley swallowed hard, now feeling retribution was at hand, but a soft hand on his back brought more comfort than he’d expected. Aziraphale was not Wick. He repeated this mantra in his head all the way back to the shop, even as his broken side resisted it.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold did Crowley steer the blonde back against the closest wall. He was on his knees before he’d had a second thought, fumbling with Aziraphale’s belt.

“Whoah! Hey!” the blonde protested, but Crowley was already feeling him up expertly, eliciting an unintentional groan from Aziraphale.

This spurred Crowley on, his hands moving at lightning speed to unzip and reveal his partner’s half-hard cock, his mouth settling over it in a wet embrace.

“Oh! Oh!” Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with his hands, and he was still trying to wrap his head around the present moment while receiving the best blow job he’d ever had. Against all of his instincts, his hands settled on Crowley’s shoulders, trying to push him away.

“Anthony” Aziraphale hardly recognized his own voice when it came out, and the redhead used the moment to swallow the blonde down, making Aziraphale shudder in response.

“Uhnn, so good, so ahhhh,” Aziraphale let out even as he tried to resist, his hips moving into the rhythm. “Anthony, please. You have to...we have to stop.”

Crowley growled like an animal trying to enjoy it’s recent kill in peace, but he drew off long enough to stare up at Aziraphale defiantly. “Let me,” he begged, though his expression wasn’t asking for permission. His tongue darted out, licking at the ridge of skin around the angel’s tip.

“Ohh fuck,” Aziraphale replied, his face revealing his anguish. He knew they needed to talk. He knew this wasn’t the answer. “Anthony this isn’t how I want it to be between us.”

“Give me this,” Crowley responded, his voice finally betraying the desperation he was feeling. “I...I need you.” His hand continued to work at Aziraphale until he saw the angel flinch. It was an expression he’d seen many, many times. The blonde was about to fall over the edge.

Crowley took him back into his mouth and used every trick in his arsenal to bring Aziraphale to climax in under ten seconds. As he came, Crowley opened his mouth, letting the blonde’s seed coat the interior, but also all over his face. Aziraphale looked down in twisted shock, half arousal, half disbelief at the sight, obviously never having marked anyone like that before. It brought out a kind of predatory instinct in him, like he was claiming Crowley or perhaps the other way around. Exhausted, Aziraphale’s legs gave out and he sank to the floor while Crowley leaned back on his elbows.

Crowley’s tongue darted out, capturing a drop of Aziraphale’s spend trickling down his cheek. The blonde drew out his handkerchief and handed it to his boyfriend, eyes wide. Crowley paused for a moment before wiping the rest of it away.

“Why do I feel like you were trying to get out of trouble?” Aziraphale said after a long pause.

The redhead ducked his chin. “I didn’t want to go with him,” he said. “I promise you that.”

“Who was that Anthony?” Aziraphale asked. “Was that one of the...the men you wrote about in your letters?”

Crowley nodded.

“And would you have? Gone with him? If I...if I hadn’t come out just then?” Aziraphale asked the question against his own will, and it showed.

Crowley sniffled. “I...I don’t know. I don’t think so? Oh, angel...I was so frightened.”

The blonde pulled Crowley to him, cradling him on his chest. “I understand,” he said soothingly. “But we’re supposed to be working on this together. I need you to communicate with me, Anthony. Not...ravish me every time you feel uncertain. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” Crowley replied tearfully. “I know and I know but there’s this demon inside of me and sometimes it screams louder than I can! In so many ways I’ve gotten better but then there’s these triggers. They set me off and I just shut down. I understand...if you don’t want to keep putting up with it all.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale tutted. “None of that. That’s not what this is about. No ultimatums. No threats or bargains. We talk about these things. We learn to understand one another. And then we decide together how to move forward. Don’t you think that’s how it should be?”

Crowley let out a deep breath. “Y-yeah. I do.”

“Then that’s that,” Aziraphale said, squeezing his partner closer. “We will figure it out, darling. I promise.”

-

“I might be dying,” Crowley said dramatically. His head was buried in his hands as Dr. Device looked on from her usual chair.

“Due to...these sexual frustrations you mentioned?” the brunette asked.

“Yes,” Crowley hissed. “It’s been two months since things began between us and I know he’s trying to be careful with me…”

“You mean by taking things so slowly?” Dr. Device asked.

“Yeah. Slow-est. Opposite of fast. We’ve had a few snags here and there. Especially the run-in I had with the former client. Everything kind of ground to a halt after that.” Crowley stared despondently at the corner of the room.

“And have you mentioned your desire to pick things back up?” Dr. Device asked.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Crowley asked. His eyes flashed, revealing his desperation. “I’ve been working so hard to make sure he doesn’t see me like that...like the way I was after the run-in. I don’t want him to think I’m some lust-driven animal!”

“I think you need to figure out why you need your partner to see you in a certain way,” his therapist said carefully.

“I don’t know what you mean…” Crowley replied.

“Well,” Dr. Device continued. “For someone who has experienced sexual trauma you might equate perfectly natural desires with perversion. But you seem to regard your partner as a saint, somewhat, despite the fact that you’ve shared sexual experiences together. So it’s important to find a way to be honest about what you want without judging yourself for it. Just as you don’t judge him for it. If things are going too slow for you...if you want more from your partner, then you feel should free to express it.”

“Okay,” Crowley said. “Okay. With words...right?”

Dr. Device laughed.

“I knew there’d be a catch,” Crowley complained.

-

Crowley was holding Aziraphale’s hand as they walked back to the shop. They had just enjoyed a wonderful dinner and were dodging stray drops of rain on the street. Crowley was practicing his words in his head over and over again. He hoped it would end well.

He waited until they were halfway through a bottle of white before broaching the subject. Aziraphale looked particularly luminous that evening, and he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them.

“Angel…” he started off, clearing his throat a little too loudly.

“Yes, dear?” the blonde asked, fingers pinching the rim of his glass.

“You…” he took a deep breath. “You told me that I should communicate with you, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I want to, that is, I’d very much like to express how I feel about you, about us… I was hoping we could do that together.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed and set down his glass. Something flashed in his eyes, and Crowley didn’t miss it. “Are you quite sure you’re ready for that? I mean...you feel comfortable-”

“Yes,” Crowley said too quickly. “That is...I’ve given it a lot of thought. I want to explore the uh...intimate component of our relationship. Together.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale said noncommittally. “What did you have in mind?”

Oh fuck. Crowley’s brain was already shorting out. Being so clinical with his language was already a challenge...but to spell it out? He swallowed hard. “I want to kiss you. And touch you…”

The blonde leaned forward, and Crowley suddenly wished they weren’t occupying separate chairs.

“I want you to touch me,” the redhead ventured on. “I want…” His cheeks were burning.

Aziraphale stood from his present position and tugged at his bow tie, letting the fabric hang loose around his neck as he knelt before the redhead. “Yes?” he asked.

Crowley let out a shaky breath. “More of you. Revealed like that,” he whispered. He watched in amazement as Aziraphale complied, his fingers snapping smartly over every button on his shirt. He stripped it off and it fluttered to the ground.

“I want to be the one to do it,” Crowley tacked on, realizing his own hands felt decidedly empty.

Aziraphale smiled and it set Crowley’s pulse to pounding.

“How far do you want to go?” the blonde asked, and his voice absolutely dripped with desire even as he restrained himself. Still being careful, so careful with Crowley. Somewhere deep down, Crowley knew he needed it. Beneath the burn of lust was fear.

“I...I’m not sure,” Crowley said, feeling his rising sense of anxiety. Maybe it was all too much.

“Shh,” Aziraphale said as he reached up to enfold Crowley in his arms. The redhead sank into the hug, feeling reassured that he could trust his partner. “We can stop at any time,” the blonde reminded him. “You set the rules, okay?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said with a growing smile. “Okay.”

One of the hardest things was trying to navigate between the 120 mph he wanted to go, and the 5 mph he knew he should start at. It had always been all or nothing with him, but now he had something real. Something worth nurturing.

Bearing this in mind, Crowley kissed his angel, enjoying the sensation of their lips pressed against one another’s. He opened his mouth slightly and Aziraphale allowed his tongue inside, playing with the tip of his own. Crowley moaned into it and melted under the reassuring hands that wrapped around his torso.

They took their time exploring with their mouths, kissing each other’s necks, faces, and hands. Crowley hadn’t realized when they’d stood and started walking toward the bedroom, but he was glad for it. He’d started to overheat in anticipation.

He made himself disrobe both of them slowly, pulling off Aziraphale’s undershirt before removing his own. Then he helped his partner take off his trousers and pants. With the blonde watching, Crowley stripped himself of his remaining clothes until they were both bared to one another.

“Can you hold me?” Crowley asked, feeling small and insecure.

Aziraphale leaned in and nuzzled into the redhead who relished the feel of bare skin encompassing him. It was sexual, but not the way he’d initially expected. He felt held and seen. Realer as Aziraphale’s hands mapped over his arms, his ass, his thighs. Touching him for the tenderness of it, gentle and firm at the same time.

His hands reached the redhead’s back and paused, lingering on the scars. Crowley flinched slightly. He’d never taken his shirt off completely in front of the angel.

“Anthony,” the blonde whispered, arresting his attention. Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes expectantly. “Do you have any idea how much I adore you?”

Crowley tried to keep his eyes from tearing up but he couldn’t.

“Shh, that’s okay,” Aziraphale said soothingly, kissing Crowley’s temple, his cheek, and his lips once more. He guided the redhead to the bed and laid him down.

“How did I get so lucky?” Aziraphale asked, one hand trailing down Crowley’s arm. “You’re so beautiful.”

Crowley made an embarrassing whining sound from the back of his throat as Aziraphale’s hand went lower, wrapping around his long cock. He pushed into it greedily and let his legs fall open.

“You’re doing so well my darling,” Aziraphale guided him. “Tell me what you’d like.”

Crowley’s eyes opened and he didn’t even realize they had closed. He looked up into his partner’s eyes with complete trust. “I want...I want your mouth on me,” he whispered.

“Here?” Aziraphale asked, his hand gripping more tightly on the redhead’s cock.

“Yes!” Crowley breathed out, stifling a groan.

“And here?” Aziraphale went on, moving his fingers down to cradle Crowley’s balls.

“Oh yes,” Crowley keened.

“What about...here?” Aziraphale whispered, his fingers sliding between Crowley’s cheeks, tickling at the soft ring of muscle there.

“Fuck, yes,” Crowley ground out. He watched as the blonde slid down his body, but this time there were no nightmares rising up to haunt him. He saw Aziraphale’s eyes. His nose. His mouth opening and his tongue sliding out to wash over him. It was Aziraphale who was giving him this pleasure.

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s thighs and pushed them back toward the bed, allowing his tongue to sink between his cheeks. Crowley felt his entire body tremble as the blonde lathed over him, a finger eventually joining in the gentle exploration of his opening.

“Does that feel good, love?” Aziraphale asked, his rhythm patient and cautious.

“So good,” Crowley moaned. “I want...I want you to make love to me, angel.”

Aziraphale groaned long and low, vibrating the skin between Crowley’s cheeks. He seemed to lose himself in the moment, his tongue steadily dipping in between his fingers as he worked the redhead open.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley shivered. “I won’t last like this…”

“I’m tempted to watch you come undone,” Aziraphale breathed out as he pulled away, but caught the pout on his partner’s lips.

“I want it to be with you,” Crowley protested, and reached down to intertwine his fingers with the blonde’s.

“Well then, as you wish,” Aziraphale said. He leaned back on his knees and stroked himself a few times as he looked down at Crowley’s body, open and ready for him. “God you’re sexy,” he groaned.

Crowley flushed and spread his legs wider, practically pushing himself up Aziraphale’s lap.

“Mm and so eager,” the blonde added. He shifted his hips, angling down to align himself with Crowley’s hole, and pushed the tip inside.

Both men gasped as Aziraphale worked himself in, inch by inch. Crowley’s hands fisted in the sheets as the blonde rolled his hips again and again. Aziraphale’s cock wasn’t long per say, but it was just fat enough to rub all the right places.

“Are you doing alright, love?” the blonde asked. He’d nearly lost himself in the building sensation, his eyes hooded and sensual.

Crowley stared up at him, mouth ajar, lips wet. The muscles in Aziraphale’s arms were flexing as he gripped the redhead’s ass for traction. “Yeah,” Crowley mumbled and then moaned into it. Aziraphale had finally seated himself fully and was drawing back agonizingly slow.

Crowley’s body began to tremble and Aziraphale adjusted his position so that he could hold him, pressing their chests together. He kissed Crowley softly, tracing their lips over one another. “Is this good?” he asked.

“Yeah I just…” Crowley’s voice gave out under him. “I just...I love you so much, angel.” The admission left him so exposed.

Aziraphale groaned and his hips began to move faster. “Oh Anthony,” he murmured. “I love you too.”

Crowley’s fingernails dragged against the blonde’s back as if trying to keep him there, but he knew intrinsically, Aziraphale wasn’t going anywhere. And just like a baptism, Crowley felt reborn. Love was real. It was something they had together.

The redhead tightened his legs around Aziraphale, urging him to move. “More,” he whispered. “I need more.”

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale promised as he kissed down the side of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley whimpered in his arms, his breath coming faster along with the roll of Aziraphale’s hips. He felt the angel’s fingers pulling at his hair and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. Fortunately Aziraphale was on the same page.

“Ohh god baby,” Aziraphale grunted, drops of sweat forming on his brow. “So close.”

Crowley’s fingers swept down to his neglected cock and began to pump in time with the blonde’s rhythm. “Don’t stop,” he begged. “Oh fuck!”

Crowley came over his hand as Aziraphale finished inside of him, one final plunge pulling the euphoria out of his body. His arms gave out and he landed unceremoniously with his head on Crowley’s wiry chest, still holding the redhead’s legs up and open.

“Oh my god,” Aziraphale said softly. “That was…”

“Incredible,” Crowley finished for him, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“And you’re okay?” Aziraphale asked, scanning Crowley’s body as if he’d just survived a bombing.

“M’fine angel,” Crowley promised. “With you. As long as I’m with you.”

The blonde sank to the side and tugged Crowley with him, snuggling the life half out of him. Crowley didn’t complain, however. As far as he was concerned, he’d never have anything to complain about ever again. He was the luckiest man on earth.

-

Aziraphale awoke to find the bed empty. He frowned and fumbled in the dark until he’d managed to untangle himself from the sheets. He didn’t have to go far to find Crowley.

The redhead was in Aziraphale’s bathrobe, one hand up to the window pane as he gazed out. Rain was pouring down outside, making him look melancholy and alone.

“Darling?” Aziraphale called softly. Crowley’s eyes turned to him, pained.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale pressed. He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around his beloved.

Crowley sniffed and sighed against his angel’s bare shoulder. “I’m not perfect,” he grumbled. “I know that I love you and you love me...but there will be times that I need things...when I do things that might upset you.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said obviously. “And me to you.”

“Yeah but mine might be...unnatural,” Crowley argued. “I might want you to leave a meal in the middle of dinner to fuck me in a bathroom. I might want other...inappropriate things. I’ve tried to stop feeling those urges but they’re still there. Beneath the surface. Tonight was so beautiful and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Aziraphale squeezed the redhead in his arms. “Okay. Then let’s work on that together. I might not want to perform...in the loo...but I can certainly whisk you home for the same. Or help you find ways to express those desires in a safe space. But Crowley…”

He pulled back and met his partner’s eyes. “I know who you are and what you’ve been through. I know there are bumps in the road ahead. I know that you’re scared, and that I’m not perfect either. Do you think we can just be us, instead of worrying about what we’ve been or who we could be? Can we just be us, together?”

Crowley let the tear forming in his eye slide down his cheek, letting it be rather than fighting it. Instead, he nodded his head and gave his angel a sweet smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’d like that.”


End file.
